


make a shadow of yourself

by taywen



Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Frottage, Hand Jobs, M/M, Minor Character Death, Oranges, Overseer!Corvo
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-05
Updated: 2015-12-25
Packaged: 2018-04-13 01:24:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4502430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taywen/pseuds/taywen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Corvo lied. His tongue did not burn, and some dark, mean part of him was thrilled that Campbell fell for it. It must have been how men fell prey to the Outsider so easily; a lie was a simple thing, easy in the execution, like slipping a blade between an enemy’s ribs.</i>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <i>He woke in the Void that night.</i>
</p><p>An Overseer!Corvo AU, eventual Corvo/Daud.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [NeverEnoughCats](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NeverEnoughCats/gifts).



> for my fellow trash buddy, NeverEnoughCats, who asked for PWP involving Daud topping the fuck out of Overseer!Corvo as he recited the Strictures. plot ~~crept~~ barged in and refused to leave, so that will be taking place in a later part! Daud will actually appear at some point, the rating will go up, etc. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

Emily’s questions about the Siege of White Cliff had made her lesson run long, and while her interest in such violent times was perhaps unsuited to a young girl, Corvo had no wish to stifle her curiosity about the history and theology of the Abbey of the Everyman.

A guard informed Corvo that High Overseer Campbell was in the gardens with Sokolov when pupil and tutor emerged from the study. Corvo inclined his head and followed Emily outside. He should have chided her for running in the halls, but he held his tongue as she skipped ahead of him. It was heartening to see that the dark pall hanging over the city had yet to touch her.

Emily led Corvo to the pavilion, where the Empress was conversing with Spymaster Burrows. Corvo exchanged a nod with the guard standing at the top of the stairs and took up a position beside him.

The adults seemed to be arguing, sharp words drifting over to Corvo from the pavilion, though he couldn’t make out the cause of the disagreement from here. They broke off when Emily ran up to her mother, Burrows making some excuse and taking his leave with a shallow bow.

“Come along, guardsman, Overseer,” Burrows said. “We should give the Empress and her daughter some privacy.”

Corvo frowned behind his mask but didn’t protest. With the Royal Protector gone on a diplomatic tour, there should be a regular guard with the Empress all the time, if not a full squad of men. But it wasn’t his place to say so, so he followed Burrows to the lower level of the terrace, where Campbell was having a portrait done by the Royal Physician.

“Another masterpiece, Sokolov,” Burrows said, casting a cursory glance over the canvas. “As always.”

Corvo smirked at Sokolov’s muttered reply, too low for the subject or Burrows to hear. Campbell was no beauty, it was true, but a High Overseer had no need for such attributes.

“Mommy!” A scream split the air, saturated with terror.

Corvo was moving before he had time to think about it, running for the pavilion; there were footsteps behind him, and confused shouting from the other men, but Corvo paid them no mind.

The pavilion was deserted, save for the crumpled form of the Empress. Corvo scanned the area, his eyes catching on a dark figure just disappearing over the far side of the roof of the water lock as the guards caught up with him.

Whoever it was would be gone by the time Corvo made it over there, and he couldn’t dismiss Burrows’ removal of the guards around the Empress only moments before, so he said nothing about it.

“Outsider’s eyes,” one of the guards swore.

Corvo barely listened as Burrows spun some tale to the guards. Campbell drew Corvo aside, an unusually grave look on his face.

“This is a terrible thing, brother,” the High Overseer said. “The death of an Empress is no small matter. We must return to the Office and prepare for what is to come.”

Corvo’s eyes darted to the Empress, lying sprawled on the cold stone. The pool of blood was startling against the pale ground and her dark suit. His head was still turned towards Campbell, so his leader had no way of knowing the direction of Corvo’s gaze, or the steady churning of his thoughts.

Campbell had always been an ally of Burrows.

Corvo inclined his head, and followed Campbell away from the Tower.

* * *

The days that followed passed in a blur.

Burrows was proclaimed Lord Regent the next day, and set about imposing restrictions to control the plague immediately; more and more squads were mobilized as Campbell lent the Abbey’s aid to Burrows’ efforts to contain the populace; new security measures designed by Sokolov were implemented all over the city, starting with the wealthiest districts; another Overseer was assigned to the Tower in Corvo’s stead.

The Royal Protector returned a day late, and Burrows charged him with finding Emily. He turned up dead a week after that, his throat gaping; Corvo didn’t see the body himself, but one of the Overseer patrols had found the man so the news of his demise travelled quickly through the ranks.

Corvo and his hound went on a few patrols in the city, but he wasn’t officially attached to any of the squads. He should have had a squad in his own right by now, but he was not an ambitious man, and he preferred to remain out of the machinations of such men. He knew that Campbell didn’t know what to make of men that could not be moved, and so he was content with his unobtrusive position within the Abbey inasmuch as the snub did not bother him. That such petty politics ruled the Abbey was another matter entirely, and Corvo tried not to dwell on it too often despite the almost daily reminders of that reality.

For his part, Corvo didn’t know what to do about Campbell either. He voiced his thoughts only once, barely raising the subject of the assassination of the Empress before Campbell interrupted him with a raised hand. Corvo obediently fell silent as Campbell gazed around his office with an almost distrustful air, though it was deserted apart from the pair of them.

“It was a tragic accident,” Campbell said, staring at Corvo steadily. “Do you understand, brother?”

“I do,” Corvo said, even though fury pulsed through him in time with the words _tragic accident_. As if the cold-blooded _murder_ of the Empress was an unintentional consequence. As if it wasn’t a _conspiracy_ to remove the rightful ruler of the Empire because- Corvo didn’t even know why. Perhaps because Empress Jessamine made no effort to pay more than lip service to the conservative factions that saw her rule as a threat. Then he added, somehow forcing the words from his throat, “Thank you for assuaging my doubts.”

Campbell laughed genially, relaxing. “Of course. This is a time of great turmoil; unease is to be expected, even among our ranks. If you have any other concerns, do not hesitate to bring them to me. The Abbey must provide a united front for the people, an example for them to follow amidst all this uncertainty.”

“I will,” Corvo lied. His tongue did not burn, and some dark, mean part of him was thrilled that Campbell fell for it. It must have been how men fell prey to the Outsider so easily; a lie was a simple thing, easy in the execution, like slipping a blade between an enemy’s ribs.

* * *

He woke in the Void that night, the ceiling of the cell of a room he shared with another Overseer peeled back to reveal a seemingly endless expanse of blue sky. The tiny room was empty but for his bunk, the walls smooth, unbroken expanses of stone where the window and door should have been.

Corvo was wearing his uniform, apart from the distinctive blue jacket and his usual weapons. The absence of the weight of his sword was not a comforting one; the knives that he had hidden on his person at all times were gone as well.

He stood, ignoring the way the bunk creaked in protest at the new distribution of weight, and climbed out of the cell. He emerged onto the pavilion, staged as it was the last time he’d seen it. Well- not exactly. The blood had dried, and there was a scrap of paper lying just beyond the stain which Corvo crouched to pick up.

_YOU CANNOT SAVE HER YOU CANNOT SAVE HER YOU CANNOT SAVE HER YOU CANNOT SAVE HER YOU CANNOT SAVE HER YOU CANNOT SAVE HER YOU CANNOT SAVE HER YOU CANNOT SAVE HER YOU CANNOT SAVE HER_

Corvo frowned at the note, crumpling it in his fist before looking around. The vast space was not as empty as he’d first assumed. A buoy floated upside down nearby, slowly rotating though there was no discernible cause for the movement; the air was still, and the silence was complete. Islands of rock, half-realized scenes from Dunwall not unlike this isolated pavilion, were visible all around him. Pipes from nowhere leaked water that flowed upward; empty riverboats drifted through the air; in the distance, a whale swam past.

Corvo lifted his left hand with the intention of pushing up his other sleeve and pinching himself on the sensitive flesh inside his elbow, but he stopped when he saw the familiar, hated mark branded into his skin.

An involuntary sound escaped him, and he clawed at the dark lines with no regard for the pain the action caused him. The flesh around the mark gave way in a matter of seconds, blood dripping down his skin and crusting under his nails, but the mark itself was unaffected.

“Hello, Corvo,” a smooth voice said.

Corvo looked up sharply as a young man simply- appeared before him. His skin was too pale and his eyes were too dark; even without the darkness that seemed to radiate from him, Corvo would have known him for what he was.

He tried to take a step back, but his feet were rooted to the ground. He couldn’t turn his head, or close his eyes, or open his mouth.

“The Empress is dead,” the Outsider said, “and her daughter, Emily, is missing. But you know who’s behind it all, don’t you? The real question is what you’re going to do about it. Will you try to find young, helpless Emily and return her to her rightful throne? Or will you do what you always have and keep your head down?”

The Outsider continued to speak, putting voice to the doubts that Corvo had held in silence ever since the day the Empress had been killed.

Corvo didn’t want to want to listen, but just as he could not speak or shut his eyes, he was helpless to stop his ears. The words slipped from the Outsider’s blue-tinged lips softly, but they sank into Corvo’s mind like a blade through flesh, so smoothly that he could not resist them.

He recited a mantra from the _Litany_ in his mind, one that High Overseer Templeton wrote would repel the Outsider; the creature was unaffected, floating closer so that the shadows curled around Corvo’s frozen form without actually touching him.

“You know what your High Overseers have taught you, but can their words be trusted?” the Outsider said, though his pale lips curved upward, as if he could sense the bend of Corvo’s thoughts. “They lie, Corvo. Campbell breaks each of the Seven Strictures every day. It’s his own little joke.”

The _Outsider_ was a liar, Corvo knew that because he had been taught it for as long as he could remember.

(But that was a lie too: he had faint, vague memories of his childhood home, before he was taken for the Trials of Aptitude. His mother had told him stories and the Outsider wasn’t the villain, not all the time. If his words hurt the characters in his mother’s stories, it was only because he told them too much, or they decided not to believe him.)

That small, mostly-forgotten part of Corvo knew that the Outsider wasn’t lying now, if he ever had. Corvo knew about Campbell’s whores; it was an open secret, within and without the Abbey. But Corvo’s faith had always been in what the Abbey taught, not who acted as its public face.

“Is a blade an agent of evil?” the Outsider continued. “In the hands of a proper wielder, a blade is merely a tool; an extension of one’s will. With the proper intentions, much can be achieved with the edge of a sword, or the right words- or the magic of a mark.”

The Outsider smirked, and pain flared up Corvo’s left arm; the mark seemed to burn gold when Corvo glanced at it. The skin he’d gouged away before the creature had appeared was whole and unharmed.

“So, my dear, the decision is yours. You can carve my mark from your flesh, or you can make a different choice.”

Corvo woke with a stifled gasp, his heart thundering in his ears as he sat up. His left hand throbbed, and in the dim light spilling from the window, he could see the stark black lines branded upon it.

Not a dream, then. He’d hoped, without really believing it, that the vision of the Void was merely a product of his troubled mind. He’d harboured the thought that he should hold vigil in the main hall, reciting the Seven Strictures until his doubts and misgivings fell silent. It was too late for that now.

The cell was quiet. Corvo could hear the heavy, regular breathing of his roommate on the bunk below his own. He was still asleep, blissfully unaware of how utterly fucked Corvo was.

Corvo slipped from his bunk, pulling on his uniform with brisk, practiced movements. His gloves went on first, and his mask went on last.

The Outsider had not suggested that Corvo would turn himself over to his brothers; the thought crossed his mind only fleetingly. He knew what the interrogators did to heretics, suspected or otherwise; he knew that any protests that he had not _asked_ for the mark, that he had not _wanted_ it, would fall on deaf ears.

No, turning himself in was not an option. Corvo would deal with the mark himself.

* * *

The path to the kennels was a familiar one. The Overseers patrolling the halls paid him no mind, but it was a struggle for Corvo to remain relaxed all the same.

A narrow strip of light was visible at the foot of the stairs leading to the lower level of the Office, the quickest way to reach Corvo’s destination. He slowed when he saw it, frowning as he heard faint strains of music drifting out and, beneath that, grunting.

Campbell’s secret room, Corvo realized, staring at the hidden door that, for whatever reason, had not been fully closed. He’d heard rumours of the place, but dismissed them; Campbell already smuggled prostitutes in, why would he care about where he fucked them?

Corvo caught sight of the bust displayed beside the door; going closer, he noticed that one of the eyes was obviously the trigger to open the door from outside the room. Shaking his head, Corvo filed that information away for further consideration and continued towards the kennels.

Devotion roused almost immediately when he reached her cage. Her tail wagged briefly, ears perked as she looked up at Corvo expectantly. He didn’t have any treats to slip her, and she nosed briefly at his pockets, then his hands, confused, when he let her out of the cage.

A sneeze rocked Devotion’s sleek frame when she got to his left hand, and she gave a confused whine.

Corvo hushed her and led her outside, stopping at the storeroom just inside the gate leading to Holger Square. It was deserted, thankfully, and Corvo stuffed a few of the bitter medicinal herbs that he found in a jar on one of the shelves into his glove. Devotion sniffed at his hand disinterestedly when he offered it to her again, even going so far as to give the glove a lick before lunging at a darkened corner with a growl and sending some hapless rats scattering in terror.

The walk to the riverbank passed quickly. The men on patrol didn’t give him a second glance, the guards from the City Watch not knowing that Corvo was not one of the Overseers sharing their shift and the Overseers accustomed to some of their number taking in the night air.

The ground was soft under his boots, not quite mud but not dry dirt either. Corvo picked his way through the reeds, past a large drain, to a clearing out of sight of the main street. Someone had set a small brazier up in the middle of the open space, though it was unlit now. A fallen piece of wood lay on the ground nearby and Corvo sat on the makeshift seat heavily.

His left glove was tucked carefully into a pocket; his blade came out of its sheath with a soft hiss of metal. It was cool against the skin of Corvo’s wrist, reflecting the light from the moon as he considered the mark on his hand.

Devotion trotted over to him and butted her head against his leg, nosing at his bare hand with a whine. Corvo lifted the blade away, so she wouldn’t cut herself on it.

“I’m a heretic,” Corvo said. “You should stay away from me.”

She whined again, and licked the mark. Something rustled in the reeds nearby and she snapped to attention; a rat tumbled into sight a moment later, and squeaked in terror when Devotion set upon it.

Corvo looked back at his hand, angling the sword against his wrist again. He’d cut through bone before, fighting off heretics and, more recently, crazed weepers. It wasn’t easy, but he could do it.

He lifted the blade away, far enough that he could get a decent swing with it, so he could sever the hand cleanly.

The initial smooth glide of blade through flesh would jar as it hit bone, but Corvo was the best swordsman among the Overseers stationed in Dunwall, and he knew how to follow through. It would be painful, worse than the time he’d broken his arm in the Trials of Aptitude; he might bleed out, if he didn’t apply a tourniquet fast enough. He could rig one up, if he didn’t go into shock; or he could cauterize the wound using the brazier. He’d have to light it first, though, and he had nothing to use.

Corvo sighed heavily and sheathed his sword. He pulled his glove back on, ignoring the discomfort of the herbs pressing against his skin. He’d need to find a better method to hide the mark. While the gloves were a part of the standard Overseer uniform, some circumstance could arise that would necessitate removing them; bitter herbs might fool the hounds, but they couldn’t hide the sight of the mark.

Devotion returned to his side when he stood up, and he considered the problem as he made his way back up Clavering Boulevard.

* * *

The night after, Corvo used the mark. He could move across the rooftops at such exhilarating speeds, he felt like he was flying, air rushing past him as he blinked and ran across the uneven surfaces. The magic gave him the same heady thrill that lying had; it was surely how otherwise good people became agents of the Outsider.

The music boxes suppressed his magic when they played, but unless he stood directly in front of the devices for prolonged periods of time, he suffered little more than a headache. Testing his endurance in the workshop after hours was an experience; he had to wash his face thoroughly, as his nose had started bleeding the longer he stood before the box and turned the crank. He had no more wish to be mistaken for a weeper than he did for being named a heretic.

Corvo took to smearing medicinal salve over the mark and tying scraps of dark fabric around his hand. If he ever had cause to remove his gloves in front of others, he’d simply lie and tell them that he’d cut himself and applied the makeshift bandage rather than trouble the medics with his minor, embarrassing injury.

The mark also granted Corvo the ability to detect heretical artifacts. The bone charms exuded a dark miasma that had been evident to him before, but now they seemed to- sing, almost, even from a distance. He broke into the Artificer’s workshop, trying to find the source of the strange sound and discovered a bone charm. As he picked it up, he instinctively knew what special properties the cobbled thing would grant him, if he chose to use it: an enhanced sense of where other artifacts like it could be found.

The next few patrols out in the streets, Corvo collected runes and bone charms: he found one in an overflowing trash bin, another in an abandoned apartment, several washed up on the riverbanks of the districts where he was assigned. His powers grew, allowing him to see through walls and slow time and move more quickly, jump higher. There were other abilities available to him, but they were entirely too- brutal for his tastes. An Overseer was not squeamish, but he didn’t see the point of summoning swarms of rats to attack people.

Meanwhile, new Sokolov inventions called Walls of Light were installed at checkpoints along Clavering; there were other security measures being rolled out across the city as well, Corvo knew. He sometimes patrolled with tallboys; other times, he had to endure the endless sparking of arc pylons or the constant rattling of watchtowers for the duration of his shift.

As if in response, the number of weepers only seemed to increase. Nearly every night, there was some report of the crazed plague victims charging guards or Overseers or killing themselves on Sokolov’s security devices. On those occasions that he had to patrol areas near the river, Corvo often saw Dead Counters heaving shrouded bodies onto railcars or barges, for transfer to the Flooded District. Rats seemed to be everywhere; they got into everything, and swarms of them attacked people if they got too close. They were dangerous enough that Corvo had heard of civilians and even a few guardsmen losing their lives to the vermin.

* * *

Getting Campbell alone was the next step. Now that Corvo knew about secret room, it made things a great deal easier. He left a note in Campbell’s office, slipping in through the windows that were almost always left open on the second floor- who could get to the ledge that ran the length of the building, after all?

He spent the following evening in the main hall, standing before the urns that contained the ashes of past High Overseers. It wasn’t uncommon to see Overseers there in contemplation; in the past, Corvo had done the same numerous times. He had never considered pretending but-

 _Errant mind_ , he thought as he watched the staircase out of the corner of his eye. The busts of the Abbey’s dead leaders seemed to glare at him, but Corvo ignored them. Their spirits had long since merged with the cosmos, and they could do nothing to him now; and if they hadn’t, well, they might even approve of what Corvo planned to do now.

Five minutes before the appointed time, Campbell descended the stairs and headed for the door leading to the lower level of the Office. Corvo waited for the moment when the patrolling Overseers were all looking the other way, then followed Campbell down the stairs. As he crept down the steps, he heard a telltale grinding, like a large mechanism activating.

The hidden door. Corvo picked up his pace.

Campbell’s shadow was visible from the door at the foot of the stairs, illuminated by the light spilling from the secret room. The area was otherwise deserted. A moment later, the mechanism picked up again as Campbell’s shadow receded.

Corvo slowed time and darted around the corner. Campbell turned at the sound of his footsteps, but far too slowly. Corvo ducked under the descending door and punched Campbell in the gut.

He crumpled as time resumed, coughing helplessly. The door ground shut behind them, with Corvo between Campbell and the lever to open it once again.

“Who,” Campbell gasped, staggering back. He had one hand raised before him, as if to ward Corvo off; the other cradled his throat. He had a blade at his side but he made no move for it as he retreated steadily before Corvo, who followed him deeper into the room.

Corvo sneered behind his mask. No point in dragging it out. He drew his own sword and Campbell’s eyes widened.

“W-wait, we can talk about this,” Campbell said. “What do you want, money? A promotion? Passage out of the city?” He fumbled for his sword as Corvo advanced, settling into a sloppy fighting stance.

Corvo couldn’t hold back his scoff. None of his brother would stand a chance against him in a fair fight, and they all kept up with their training.

Campbell threw himself to the side, smashing through the glass of the display case against one wall with a grunt. Corvo closed the distance between them in an instant, blinking in front of Campbell as the man raised the pistol, and cut off his arm. Campbell screamed, until Corvo slit his throat.

He stepped back from the spray of blood, surveying the room briefly as Campbell gurgled at his feet. The mattresses strewn in one corner, covered in sheets of dubious cleanliness, drew a disapproving sneer. Fresh fruit lay on a platter, next to empty glasses. Corvo pushed his mask up and selected an orange; he couldn’t remember the last time he’d had fruit that wasn’t halfway to rotten.

He stripped his gloves off with his teeth before tucking them into his pocket, and peeled the fruit leisurely, eating it segment by segment as he considered Campbell’s portrait. Why would Campbell display it here, of all places? Did he consider it some kind of sick- trophy? A way to commemorate the day he’d helped Burrows arrange for the murder of the Empress?

The orange tasted sour on his tongue. Corvo finished it anyway, and tossed the peel aside carelessly. Campbell’s corpse was still, and Corvo stepped on it blithely, to avoid staining his boots with blood. The mark flared, visible even through his glove and the dark cloth tied over it, when he picked up the rune lying in the display case. His options for the rune unfurled in his mind; it took him only a moment to decide.

The rune hidden in his jacket disappeared as the one in his hand did and Corvo activated his strengthened dark vision with a thought.

Campbell’s corpse was all red, but the pistol lying next to his severed, outstretched hand was lit up in blue, as was a rectangular shape in Campbell’s jacket. There were other objects of interest littered around the room, but Corvo only had eyes for one.

Corvo pulled the thing out, blinking down at the unassuming black book in his hands as the dark vision faded. His eyes widened as he flipped through the pages. The writing was gibberish, which meant Campbell was using a code to hide- what? Corvo knew he had blackmail material on a number of the higher-ranking Overseers, and probably other important figures in the city, but he hadn’t thought it was this much. The pages were nearly full, and Campbell’s writing wasn’t large.

Decoding ciphers wasn’t Corvo’s forte. He could manage a standard cipher to encrypt messages if necessary, but this was obviously of a much greater complexity. Campbell was probably the only one who knew how to read it. But that didn’t mean the cipher couldn’t be cracked; it just meant that Corvo had to find the right person to ask.

He tucked the book into his jacket and, after affirming that no one would see him leaving the secret room, left.


	2. Chapter 2

Campbell’s corpse was discovered two days later. Corvo had heard muttering about Campbell ‘inspecting’ the Golden Cat thoroughly, or other equally illicit excuses for his absence; no one seemed terribly concerned by his absence, only the inconvenience it caused them to try to keep the Holger Square Office up and running in the meantime.

Finally, tired of waiting, a group of higher-ranking Overseers checked the secret room that ostensibly none of them knew about.

They were upset by what they found- or rather, the lack of it. Corvo overheard several of them discussing ‘Campbell’s book’ in heated whispers. It figured that they were more concerned about the fate of the blackmail that Campbell had amassed than the man himself.

While he had little interest in the machinations of the ambitious, Corvo was aware that those ambitious men were his best bet at uncovering any information that Campbell had had about Emily’s whereabouts and the death of the Empress.

Though he generally had nothing to do with any of them, Corvo knew of them. He had the tendency to fade into the background, just another masked face among the masses of Overseers that inhabited the Office. People assumed he was too stupid to understand their schemes because he wasn’t interested in scheming himself, and so they paid him little mind. He saw and heard a lot more than anyone knew, though he supposed the same could be said for any average Overseer.

It took Corvo another day to settle on who to ask to decode the book. He found the man alone the day after that.

Martin often came to the roof to smoke. While the habit wasn’t forbidden, overindulgence _was_ ; better to avoid being seen indulging at all, and avoid the possibility of accusations from overzealous or jealous comrades.

Martin’s hood was off, his mask tucked in one pocket as he leaned against the edge of the roof, looking down over the backyard. His shoulders tightened when Corvo scuffed his boots against the ground, and when he turned there was wariness in his eyes. His mouth was curved in a wry smirk, but Corvo paid it no mind.

“Care for a smoke, brother?” Martin asked, his eyes raking over Corvo and coming up with nothing. Corvo kept to himself, and he wasn’t one of the Overseers with a build that deviated exceptionally from the norm.

“No thank you,” he said; the sound of his voice prompted recognition, and Martin flicked his cigarette to the ground before grinding it out under a heel.

“I was just about done anyway, Brother Corvo.”

“I’d like to speak with you, if you have the time, Brother Martin,” Corvo said, stopping several paces away.

“Very well. I don’t think we’ve ever exchanged more than a few words in passing before,” Martin said easily.

“I don’t believe so,” Corvo said, then tired of the word games and cut to the chase: “You’re in the running for next High Overseer. What if I can guarantee that you get the position?”

That got his attention, a brief narrowing of Martin’s pale eyes. “I’m sure the best candidate will get the position,” he prevaricated.

“So you think Campbell was the best candidate,” Corvo said, deadpan.

“At the time, I assume so,” Martin said, shrugging.

Corvo snorted. “Right. Well, if you’re interested...” He pulled out the black book.

Martin’s eyes widened, darting from Corvo’s mask to the unassuming black notebook in his hand, then back again. “If I use the information contained within those pages, I will be implicated in Campbell’s murder.”

“So you don’t want it,” Corvo said, starting to tuck the book back into his jacket. Martin’s hand shot out, closing tightly around his wrist before he could complete the motion. Corvo raised his an eyebrow and waited.

Martin licked his lips, his eyes distant as he thought it through. Corvo let him; Martin wasn’t stupid, he would come to the correct conclusion.

“Why not use the thing yourself?” Martin asked, releasing him and taking a step back. He had that easy look of confidence back on his face, but it was rather too late for that; Corvo had already seen the mask slip. “You could be High Overseer in no time.”

“Me,” Corvo said. “Really.” He was a bit surprised that Martin knew his name at all; certainly it would never be mentioned in the same breath as a consideration for the position of High Overseer.

Martin chuckled. “I can hardly picture you in red, I’ll grant you that. You don’t play the right games.”

“I can’t decode it- not easily, at any rate. That’s more your area of expertise. And I’ve no interest in the position,” Corvo said.

Martin nodded. “So what _do_ you want, then?”

“Campbell was involved in the Empress’ assassination,” Corvo said. “I want to know everything that’s in here on that topic.”

“Yes,” Martin said slowly, “you acted as the Abbey’s representative at the Tower. Do you want the position back?”

Corvo considered that, but- no. He shook his head; there was nothing for him there, now. “I want to find Lady Emily, and the one who killed Empress Jessamine.”

“And kill the murderer too?”

“Bring them to justice, in any case,” Corvo said.

“You were Lady Emily’s tutor as well, I seem to recall. She must trust you.” Corvo could practically see the gears turning in Martin’s head. “Very well. I’ll have the book.”

* * *

The Feast of the Painted Kettles was announced the next day; the Dance of Investiture was held two days later, and Teague Martin was named High Overseer.

The atmosphere within the Office was one of subdued celebration. Those who had lost to Martin were bitter, and no one could forget the looming spectre of the plague- but the Overseers were accustomed to having a leader. Some of the uncertainty of their future was assuaged with Martin’s swift appointment.

Corvo wasn’t so convinced. He thought Martin was his best choice to decipher Campbell’s book, but he wondered if the new High Overseer would betray him now that he had what he wanted. It wouldn’t make sense for Martin to do so, but as the man himself had said to Corvo, Corvo hardly played those games.

It was useless to worry about what Martin might do, though it was easier to acknowledge that fact than to put it into practice. Corvo was accustomed to uncertainty, but he didn’t have the usual supports to fall back on now.

Holding vigil in the main hall, or even privately, seemed like too much of a sham. The one time he’d tried it, a strange mixture of guilt and unease had forced him to stop. The Strictures did not provide him the comfort they once did, though he still tried to abide by them as he ought to. Likewise, he could hardly confide his doubts or problems to another Overseer, unless he wanted to spend quality time in the stocks or, more likely, the interrogation room.

There was one person- or hound, rather- whose steady, trusting companionship eased Corvo’s mind, however.

After the pomp and ceremony of Martin’s appointment were through and most the Overseers had retired to bed or their usual patrols, Corvo made his way to the kennels.

They were deserted when he entered, the Overseers charged with the care and feeding of the hounds nowhere to be found. Most of the hounds were absent as well- though patrols had increased following Campbell’s murder, so perhaps the solitude was to be expected.

Corvo made his way past the rows of mostly empty cages, pausing when he reached the last corridor and saw another Overseer kneeling before the cage beside Devotion’s. The man was unmasked, murmuring quietly to a loose hound as he rubbed its belly vigorously. Corvo blinked when he realized that it was Martin, though who else would be wearing the red jacket that he noticed belatedly, Corvo couldn’t say.

The hound suddenly stood, its gaze fixed on Corvo, all traces of doggish good humour vanishing in the face of an unknown person. Corvo studied it automatically, taking in the missing left foreleg and ruined right eye. Such a distinctive hound, and yet he couldn’t recall seeing it with a handler before.

Devotion whined, pressed up against the bars nearest Corvo, wondering why her master hadn’t come to greet her.

Martin’s gaze darted briefly between them, his face relaxing into that easy smirk. He stood, dusting off his knees. “Ah, Corvo.”

“High Overseer,” Corvo said, inclining his head.

“Now that does have a nice ring to it,” Martin said, smugly satisfied. But then, he had reason to be. “It almost hasn’t sunk in yet.” He smoothed a hand down the jacket, which he wore as if he’d been born to it. It was probably the most outrageous lie Corvo had ever heard the man utter.

“Well, don’t let me get between you and your hound- Devotion, isn’t it?” Martin added, gesturing for Corvo to come closer.

“That’s right,” Corvo said, obeying. He opened the door to Devotion’s cage and she bounded out, fixating on his left hand. He slipped her the customary treat, something in him easing with the familiar presence of his hound at his side.

Martin’s hound still watched Corvo, but its eye seemed to be fixed on Corvo’s left hand as well. Hopefully it just wanted a treat.

“And this is...?”

Martin blinked, then smiled. “Heather.” He patted her head, and she looked up at him, her tail wagging.

“The two of you have been through a lot, by the looks of it,” Corvo said.

Martin chuckled, gazing back at the hound with seemingly genuine affection. “She’s more battle-scarred than most, it’s true. But right now I think she’s jealous of Devotion, never mind the treats I gave her earlier.”

At the mention of treats, Heather’s ears perked up and she looked straight at Corvo again. Her pleading face was almost as hard to resist as Devotion’s, though it was tempered by the knowledge that she could blow everything for him.

“I have a few more,” Corvo said, passing another to Devotion. She gobbled it down immediately. “It’s as if the kennel master doesn’t feed them,” he added, deadpan.

Martin chuckled again. “You don’t have to give her one.”

Corvo tossed it to Heather without thinking; despite her impaired vision, the hound snapped it out of the air. Devotion had followed, and whined now in protest, looking back over her shoulder plaintively. Corvo slipped the last one to her.

“Spoiled rotten, the both of them,” Martin said, ruffling the short fur atop Heather’s head. He clicked his tongue, and Heather immediately went on alert. “Come along, now. We’ll leave Corvo and Devotion to it.”

“I just wanted to give her some treats. Since she didn’t get to take part in the celebration earlier,” Corvo said quickly. He didn’t want Martin to think that his presence was unwelcome. Corvo would have preferred to be alone, but they were allies in this, at least for now. He didn’t want to alienate Martin and give him cause to betray Corvo.

“I was moving Heather to our new quarters, in any case,” Martin said. “I need time to look over some things,” he added idly; his tone belied the meaningful way he tapped a finger against his chest- over the pocket where he’d tucked Campbell’s book. “We’ll talk soon, Corvo.”

Corvo nodded, stepping aside so Martin and Heather could pass. The hound sniffed interestedly at his left hand as she walked by; Corvo had to resist the urge to jerk away. He’d smeared the bitter medicinal concoction on his hand after he’d woken this morning, but that was hours ago-

Martin whistled and Heather shook her head, snuffling, before trotting after her master.

Devotion pressed her head up under his slack fingers, looking at him with concern. Corvo patted her absently, slowly letting out the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. He waited until Martin’s footsteps had faded before stepping away from the wall.

He led her to the backyard, to the edge of the cliff that overlooked the Wrenhaven. The chain suspended from the crane that was used to bring in supplies creaked gently in the wind. This high up, the stench of the Wrenhaven was still detectable, though it was more familiar than distasteful at this point. The Office was far enough from the slaughterhouses and refineries that the stink of the offal dumped directly in to the river’s waters was long since dispersed.

Devotion trotted busily back and forth across the overlook, sniffing in corners- probably in search of more rats to terrorize. The irregular pattern of her steps was soothing, just enough noise to break the silence that settled over this part of the yard.

The Overseers on patrol came out this far only rarely. The cliff was essentially sheer, and the chain was winched up too far for anyone to use it to climb from the dock below; the odds of someone sneaking into the Office this way were low indeed, though someone with Corvo’s abilities wouldn’t have too hard a time of it.

Fortunately, heretics would have little cause to break into the stronghold of the Abbey.

Corvo climbed onto the crane without resorting to his magic, perching carefully at the very end. The city spread out before him, though most of it dark. It was late, but there should have been more lights in the streets across the river, at least; evidence of the quarantined districts, and the tightening ration of whale oil.

There had been weepers and quarantines under the rule of the Empress, but she hadn’t abandoned whole districts. Apart from Rudshore, which was lost for a different reason entirely. Corvo frowned at the darkened city; the levies had not been maintained under Empress Jessamine’s rule as well. But surely the measures imposed by Burrows weren’t what Dunwall needed.

And even if they were, which Corvo doubted, that hardly justified Burrows’ decision to murder her.

Devotion whined behind him. Her front paws were planted on the lower part of the crane as she watched him; she looked only a few seconds away from trying to join him, which could only have ended poorly.

“Stay,” Corvo said, and picked his way back to solid ground with care. Devotion was on him in a moment, shoving her cold nose up his sleeve to get at the skin of his wrist. Corvo cracked a smile and knelt before her, pulling off the mask so she could lick his face enthusiastically.

“Enough,” he finally said, half-laughing. She subsided with obvious reluctance, tongue lolling out of her mouth as she panted. He sprawled out more comfortably and patted his thigh, allowing her the rare indulgence of putting her head on his lap. Which of them was comforted more by the gesture, Corvo couldn’t say- though he suspected it was him.

When Corvo woke Devotion an indeterminate amount of time later, the sky seemed on the verge of lightening. She yawned hugely as he stood and replaced the mask, then followed him obediently when he made his way back to the main building.

She licked his hand when he returned her to her cage, and her snout poked through the bars as she watched him walk away. He could just imagine the dejected droop of her tail, so he didn’t look back.

The Overseer who shared the tiny room with him didn’t stir when Corvo slipped through the door, and he clambered into his bunk with a minimum of noise. His thoughts were quieter now, and he drifted off to sleep without too much trouble.

* * *

Martin summoned him several days later, just as Corvo was starting to get anxious about the lack of communication.

It wasn’t as if he could go see the new High Overseer too often, lest people become suspicious of their involvement. The man was incredibly busy as well, transitioning to his new position; he might not have had the chance to decode Campbell’s book, or find the time to arrange a meeting with Corvo. When the summons did come, Corvo breathed a quiet sigh of relief.

“Do you ever take that mask off?” Martin asked when Corvo came to him, looking far too comfortable in the red jacket that had been his own for less than a week.

“Wearing it at all times is standard protocol,” Corvo said. Beyond Martin’s ambitions- which had now, presumably, come to fruition- and what he had gleaned about the man’s personality through careful observation, Corvo knew little about him. Not that there was anything to know: every Overseer’s story was more or less the same. They had come to the attention of local Overseers, on their own or offered to the Abbey by their parents, and had survived the Trials of Aptitude to become full-fledged Overseers.

Martin smirked. “Of course. You are known to be the rule-abiding type- disregarding the glaring exception that I know of, naturally.”

Corvo tilted his head, wondering if Martin planned to betray him. It was always a risk, but Corvo thought the benefits of their association would have outweighed it.

Or, though this theory was somehow even more preposterous, was Martin teasing him? It was difficult to reconcile the man who doted too much on his hound (though Corvo could hardly judge him for that) with the one willing to blackmail his way to High Overseer, but here they were.

“To business, then,” Martin sighed, rolling his eyes, when Corvo made no reply. “Campbell and Burrows hired an assassin named Daud- yes, I thought the name might be familiar,” he remarked when Corvo stiffened. “He’s the one who murdered Empress Jessamine, according to Campbell’s records.”

Pain radiated up his arms, and for one heart-stopping moment Corvo expected to find his mark flaring golden and visible through the glove. But when he glanced down, his hands were merely fisted tightly.

“Why?” Corvo asked. The word came out more raggedly than he would have expected. He had thought Campbell and Burrows were behind the murder of the Empress, but it was still something of a shock to have his suspicions confirmed. Empress Jessamine had always seemed like a good leader to Corvo; too trusting, perhaps, but she wanted her people - all of them, even the poor and forgotten - to prosper. What was so wrong with that?

Martin frowned. “Why did Daud kill the Empress, or why did they have her killed?”

“Why have Empress Jessamine killed?”

“Ah.” Martin tapped his fingers against the top of his desk as he considered the question. “I don’t know. Campbell didn’t specify. He and Burrows disapproved of many of the policies championed by the Empress, but he didn’t explicitly state that as the reason. That was part of it; perhaps it was the entire motive.” Martin shrugged.

Corvo deliberately relaxed his hands, flexing his fingers carefully. “I see.”

“You didn’t ask him? When you- had the chance,” Martin said.

“I didn’t want him to recognize my voice,” Corvo said.

Martin nodded. “Sensible. In case something went wrong, better to have anonymity on your side.”

“Yes,” Corvo said. If he had somehow failed to kill Campbell, though, anonymity wouldn’t have saved him. The (former) High Overseer could have simply ordered all the Overseers to remove their left glove so he could check for the Outsider’s mark.

“As for Lady Emily,” Martin said, drawing Corvo from his thoughts, “I haven’t found anything- yet. I need to decode the rest of the book, but I should be finished soon. If Campbell knew where Lady Emily is being held, I’ll tell you.”

Corvo nodded and took his leave.

He repeated the assassin’s name in his mind again and again as he carried out his duties. Daud was a suspected heretic and the leader of a gang called the Whalers. The group was based in Dunwall, though the location of their hideout was unknown. If they had powers like blink, it would explain how the assassins had gotten from the roof of the water lock to the pavilion and back again without being seen...

* * *

There were a number of likely places where the Whalers could have set up their base, especially with the decline of the city in recent months. Whole districts were abandoned, cordoned off and inaccessible behind the massive plague barriers- unless their inhabitants happened to have the abilities that came with the mark of the Outsider.

While that narrowed it down, combing all the quarantined districts on his own would have been a daunting task if he hadn’t gotten lucky. Most people didn’t look up, as Corvo had learned when he was first testing his powers, but he noticed on his patrols or night walks that a Whaler or two could often be found lingering on the rooftops around Bottle Street. Alerting his fellows was out of the question; by the time they got up there, the assassin would be long gone, and more wary if they returned at all.

The assassins were disciplined, but complacent. They didn’t stray from their posts, but neither were they particularly alert for threats from the rooftops. Corvo laid in wait one night, then followed the Whaler back when their shift changed.

Their blinks seemed to have a longer distance, but the Whaler was as susceptible as regular people when Corvo bent time so he managed to keep pace all the way to- the Flooded District. He stopped when he realized where the Whaler had led him, tracking the assassin’s progress with his dark vision until they faded from sight. He could pick out sentries stationed at intervals, which only confirmed that their base must have been nearby.

Corvo looked around again, wondering what his next move should be. There was no way of knowing how many Whalers there were, and he didn’t know what he wanted to do about Daud, exactly. Find out where Emily was, possibly get enough evidence of Burrows’ involvement in Jessamine’s murder to get the traitor deposed and thrown in prison.

Corvo blinked back towards the populated areas of Dunwall, leaving the sentries behind as he turned that thought over in his head. He could tell Martin where the Whalers were, though some part of his balked at the idea of anyone being subjected to the brutal ministrations of the interrogators. He could also try to find Daud and kill him himself.

And of course, he realized with a guilty start, he should have wanted to eradicate the man and his followers simply because they were agents of the Outsider. There was no chance that Daud was merely an otherwise pious man whose disillusionment with the authority of the city had somehow caught the Outsider’s interest. Daud killed people for coin; he was a deplorable character no matter how Corvo looked at him.

A hiss of displaced air preceded the scuffing of a boot against the roof behind him. Corvo tensed and turned-

The assassin- _Daud_ \- stood behind him, several paces away. The moon was bright enough that Corvo could see the distinctive scar carved into the right side of his face, and he wore the red jacket that reports claimed marked him as the leader of the Whalers.

“What’s an Overseer doing on the edge of a quarantined district like this?” Daud asked, slowly stalking closer. His movements left no doubts about his ability, but Corvo was hardly the prey to his predator.

“Hunting heretics,” Corvo said, shifting his weight and tracking Daud’s steps as he circled closer.

“Do you expect me to confess my sins, Overseer?” the assassin asked mockingly.

“Hardly,” Corvo said, “I already know everything I need to.”

Daud’s eyes widened as Corvo blinked in front of him, and he staggered back with a startled grunt when Corvo punched him in the face with all his strength.

“What the fuck,” Daud said, reappearing several feet away. His mark glowed through the glove covering it, hand raised halfway to his bleeding nose; his face was twisted in an expression of disbelief. “An _Overseer_?” He dodged Corvo’s next attack, moving smoothly to strike out at Corvo in return.

Neither of them went for a blade, though Corvo was sure the assassin must have had as many tucked away as Corvo himself did, if not more. Daud fought dirty though, and he was more ruthless than most of the other opponents Corvo had faced in street brawls. The taunts he hurled at Corvo were a great deal more cutting than the drunken slurs or the unimaginative insults that desperate thugs used. What surprised Corvo more was the fact that Daud wouldn’t _shut the fuck up_.

“You’d think a devout Overseer would turn himself in if he gained the attention of the Outsider. Or cut off his hand to hide the evidence,” Daud said, jabbing at Corvo’s face. Corvo twisted to the side; while hitting the mask would probably hurt Daud’s hand, maybe even break a few knuckles if those gloves weren’t reinforced, Corvo wasn’t keen to have it smashed against his face either. “Then again, would a devout Overseer have gotten marked at all?”

Corvo snarled when Daud shifted his weight back immediately, furious at the feint. Daud’s fingers raked over Corvo’s hood and caught on the edge of his mask. It clattered against the roof as Daud flung it aside; he looked briefly surprised to see Corvo’s face.

Corvo kicked him in the knee and he went down cursing, but he was back on his feet before Corvo could do something really satisfying, like kicking the shit out of him.

“Well? How does getting marked fit in with your _Strictures_ ,” Daud demanded, glaring across the space between them as he panted for breath.

“It’s a tool,” Corvo snarled, glaring right back.

Daud looked at him blankly for a second, then barked a laugh; it was a harsh, jagged thing that grated on Corvo’s nerves. “Did the black-eyed bastard tell you that one?”

Corvo frowned. The lack of reverence in Daud’s tone was completely at odds with his impression of heretics. The moment of confusion was all the opening Daud needed; in the space between one heartbeat and the next, Daud slammed into him, the weight of him bearing Corvo to the ground more than enough to knock the air out of his lungs.

Daud bared his teeth in a savage grin as Corvo struggled to dislodge him. His hands were pinned above his head with one of Daud’s own, and Daud had the other planted on Corvo’s chest, keeping him pressed to the roof. Corvo grimaced and tried to knee Daud, though he was hindered by the fact that the assassin was basically straddling his leg.

“None of that,” Daud growled, shifting his weight and-

Corvo bit back a whimper, barely, heat flooding his cheeks as Daud pressed a firm thigh against his previously unnoticed erection.

Disbelief crossed Daud’s face, then he pressed harder and Corvo’s hips bucked up involuntarily, chasing friction.

“Get off me,” Corvo spat. He tried to sit up when Daud’s hand slipped down his chest, but his body betrayed him when that same hand cupped his dick through the layers of his uniform. “Get _off_ -”

“Since you’re asking so nicely,” Daud said, something hungry on his face that made Corvo’s stomach clench in- he didn’t want to examine what, really. Didn’t have time to, because Daud palmed his dick, hard, and bent down to kiss him.

There were more teeth than Corvo was accustomed to from his limited experience in such matters, but he wasn’t complaining. He should have been, but it was hard to remember that with the insistent pressure of Daud’s hand against his dick. It had been too long since he’d had anything but his own hand, and even that was a rare occurrence.

Daud tasted of blood, and he winced slightly when Corvo tilted his head, jarring his nose. Drawing on what he could remember from past encounters, Corvo opened his mouth slightly. Daud growled and pressed in eagerly, the copper tang of blood intensifying. Corvo tried to wrench his wrists free, but that only lost him Daud’s hand on his dick as the assassin pinned him more securely.

“Nice try,” Daud said, his tongue passing briefly over his lips; he was out of breath, but Corvo wasn’t any better off. He rolled his hips against Corvo’s thigh and Corvo couldn’t stop his shocked whimper when he felt the hardness there. Not that he’d thought Daud was just toying with him, but- the situation was so unprecedented that Corvo didn’t know what to expect anymore.

When he tried to free himself again, Daud only tightened his grip and pressed his leg against Corvo’s dick once more, leaning his weight into it so Corvo could barely move beneath him.

“Give it up,” Daud said, and Corvo didn’t even know what the bastard was referring to. He was dimly aware that low, needy noises were spilling from his throat but he didn’t know how to stop them any more than he could stop the desperate rocking of his hips.

Daud leaned in again and Corvo arched up, trying to meet him halfway. He felt Daud’s smirk against his mouth before the man sank his teeth into Corvo’s lower lip, _hard_ , breaking the fragile skin.

Corvo _whined_ , his hips working frantically as he came in his trousers, harder than he could remember. He slumped back against the roof, overheated and vaguely ashamed and sated in a way that made the first two concerns seem distant and unimportant.

“Fuck,” Daud muttered. “That was fast.”

Corvo ignored him, and made no effort to move as Daud slumped onto the roof next to him, pressing a hand to his own neglected dick.

“Hey,” Daud said, tensing, when Corvo straddled his thighs, but when Corvo only jerked his gloves off with his teeth and started on the fastening of Daud’s trousers, he seemed to relax marginally.

There was something like amusement on his face when Corvo glanced up, which only served to piss him off. It slid away as Daud’s head dropped back, a groan escaping his lips as Corvo got his dick out. For all his complaints, he didn’t look too far from coming himself; his dick was flushed red and wet with precome, Corvo’s hand gliding easily along its length as he jerked the assassin off.

“Yeah, like that,” Daud said, and Corvo bit his lip, ignoring the way the praise made his dick twitch with interest. That wasn’t anything he was interested in exploring at this time, or ever.

Daud moaned when he came a few strokes later, spilling over Corvo’s fingers and the front of his red jacket. Corvo worked him through it, milking every last drop that he could onto the bastard’s uniform and taking care to wipe his hand on what unsullied fabric remained when he was done.

“I didn’t think you had it in you, Overseer,” Daud said, but his voice was languid enough that Corvo decided to disregard the taunt.

He ignored Daud completely as he climbed to his feet, pulling his gloves on. His mask was near the edge of the roof, glinting dully in the moonlight as Corvo went to pick it up. His drawers were already starting to feel uncomfortable, and there was probably blood on him, too- but he could say he got in a fight with a rowdy civilian. Any other, more incriminating stains would be hidden by the fall of his jacket, which was more than he could say for Daud.

Corvo paused with his mask raised halfway to his face and glanced back at Daud, who was just- lounging there, like an asshole. The effect was somewhat ruined by the come drying on his coat, and Corvo didn’t bother to hide his blatant appreciation of the sight before putting the mask back on and blinking away.

Daud’s cursing could be heard from the next rooftop when Corvo landed, and Corvo allowed himself to laugh as he made his way back to Holger Square.

* * *

His amusement didn’t last long as Corvo realized that he hadn’t accomplished anything besides figuring out roughly where the Whalers’ base was; not Emily’s location, not even an admission of guilt from Daud.

The bone charm hidden in the inner pocket of his jacket hummed, alerting Corvo to a nearby artifact. He had a collection of bone charms stashed on a rooftop near Holger Square, though he hadn’t had occasion to make use of them; one charm could perhaps be explained, but keeping multiple heretical objects on his person was asking for trouble. Still, he was only a few runes short of being able to stop time completely, and the temptation to gain that power for himself was too strong to ignore.

He’d crossed into the Old Port District several minutes ago, navigating across the darkened area by moonlight and his dark vision. The source of the humming was on a side street, whereas the Whaler had led Corvo along the main thoroughfare and, distracted, Corvo had missed the artifact.

The building he found was abandoned, the windows and doors of the lower levels boarded up or clamped shut, but the balcony doors of the suite on the top floor were thrown open and strange violet light spilled out into the night from within.

Corvo dropped down onto the balcony, scanning the area with his dark vision to confirm that there was nobody nearby; a swarm of rats writhed on the floor below, but no human figures were visible, so he walked in.

The shrine was a haphazard construction, the boards of the altar fastened together inexpertly, but the fabric was well made and the careful arrangement of objects around the shrine suggested that whoever had built it was merely a poor carpenter.

A rune lay on the warped board that formed the altar’s surface, its black aura somehow _heavier_ than the runes that Corvo had found in the past. This was the first shrine he’d found since receiving the mark, however, so perhaps that explained it.

Corvo stiffened in surprise when the miasma seemed to bloom as he picked up the rune, and he froze up entirely when the Outsider appeared before him in the centre of the growing shadows. The darkness seemed to swallow up the eerie violet light of the oil lamps, and the hissing of the rune faded to nothing.

“You’re a mystery, Corvo,” the Outsider said, his dark eyes seeming to bore into Corvo. His tone was tinged with- amusement? “Your intentions are difficult to understand, even for yourself. You had the chance to kill the murderer of the Empress, but instead you left Daud alive. Do you even know why? Was it for something as base as lust, or was there another reason?”

Corvo didn’t answer; couldn’t, even if he wanted to, though he didn’t know what he would say. Why _had_ he left Daud alive? That the Outsider had been watching that spectacle was humiliating. Was he always watching?

“I always watch those I grant my mark, even when they become predictable and I lose interest in speaking with them,” the Outsider told him. “This shrine was Daud’s. This building was abandoned and condemned long before the plague was brought to Dunwall’s shore. After I stopped appearing to him, Daud stopped coming to my shrines. An eye for an eye, as it were. Not such a different philosophy than what your little cult teaches, is it? But neither of you seem to be following it anymore.”

His voice offered no indication of how he felt about that; perhaps he was only saying those things to make Corvo doubt himself.

The creature leaned forward then, close enough that Corvo imagined he would feel his breath against his face, if the Outsider breathed and Corvo had taken off his mask.

“I look forward to what you’ll do next.”

The Outsider disappeared, the intangible pressure that had rooted Corvo to the floor before the shrine lifting. He sucked in a breath, then another, as he stared at the rune in his hand.

Then he tucked it into his jacket and continued on his way to the Office, stopping only to add it to one of the stashes of heretical artifacts that he had hidden in various high places around Holger Square.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Martin's hound, Heather, was created by NeverEnoughCats! you should go read her fic "Who We Want To Be" if you want to see more of that cutie :D


	3. Chapter 3

A few nights later found Corvo patrolling the streets of the Estate District with Devotion, filling in for a short-handed squad. He hadn’t heard of any of his fellows catching the plague, and all the Overseers got the prescribed doses of Sokolov’s Elixir every day, but some of them still got injured on the increased patrols demanded by the Lord Regent. Martin had assigned him to this squad to temporarily fill in such an absence.

Even in the Estate District, the decline of the city was obvious. Most of the buildings were still inhabited, but some had been abandoned or quarantined, and there was just as much trash and just as many shrouded corpses awaiting removal as there were in less affluent areas of Dunwall. The rats were everywhere, of course.

Some noble was throwing a party. Railcars had rattled up and down the streets all night, ferrying guests to and from the gathering. It wasn’t as lavish an affair as the Boyles were known to throw (or so Corvo had overheard from a pair of gossiping guards) but the excess of it still made Corvo sneer.

“Hey, I thought someone was supposed to be making rounds over here,” a lower guard muttered as he passed a nearby alley. He made no move to investigate, however: the streetlight closest to it had run out of oil, and the short stretch of street was dark.

Corvo waited until the guard had moved on, then put a hand on his sword and walked over to the alley. It was adjacent to the manor holding the party, and he could hear faint strains of music and laughter from the property. The high walls enclosing whatever lord’s house it was prevented the lights from the affair from spilling into the street and illuminating any potential miscreants, unfortunately.

Devotion trotted at his side, a low growl rumbling in her chest as they reached the mouth of the darkened street.

After checking that they were alone, Corvo drew on the Void and activated his dark vision. A few rats sniffed disinterestedly at a corpse in the far corner of the dead end, but the area was otherwise deserted.

Devotion went tearing past to harass the vermin and Corvo relaxed marginally-

The wind rushed out of him as someone suddenly pinned him to the wall, their hand closing like a vise around Corvo’s wrist, pressing down so that his sword remained jammed in its sheath. Their other hand held the distinctive cross-hatched blade attributed to the Whalers to Corvo’s throat.

“Overseer,” Daud said, baring his teeth in a savage grin.

“Assassin,” Corvo spat back, gathering his magic for a wind blast. It would make a racket, but he could pin the blame for it on the heretic if anyone was brave enough to check. Given that the guards were too busy complaining about being stuck on the street rather than stationed at the party itself, he somehow doubted it would be an issue.

Devotion slammed into Daud, snarling. Daud staggered away with a curse, trying to kick the hound that had latched onto his leg, but Devotion hung on stubbornly.

Corvo blocked Daud’s blade with his own before it could touch her, knocking it from Daud’s grasp. A grunt escaped Daud as Corvo pinned him against the opposite wall of the alley, reversing their positions. An overflowing trash bin blocked them from the view of the main street, not that anyone without Void-enhanced vision could have seen them anyway.

Corvo whistled sharply and Devotion released Daud, backing up several steps. She still watched him warily, her ears pinned to her head as she growled continuously.

“Everything all right over there, brother?” one of his fellow Overseers called from the mouth of the alley.

“Just rats,” Corvo said, not taking his eyes off Daud’s face. “I’ve got it handled.”

Daud smirked at the last word and Corvo jarred him back against the brick wall in retaliation.

“As you say,” the Overseer said, and continued on his patrol.

“Rats,” Daud said, when the other man’s footsteps had faded.

“That’s right,” Corvo said pointedly.

Daud stared at him for several moments, though what he saw with the mask still in place, Corvo couldn’t say. He made no attempt to escape; at length, he huffed out a bitter laugh and went limp.

Corvo kept him up against the wall for a few seconds longer, then stepped back. His blade stayed at the ready, however.

“How’d you know it was me?” Corvo asked.

“You were the only Overseer wearing a bone charm under his jacket,” Daud said. “Even the non-believers in your ranks aren’t usually dumb enough to do that.”

“Most heretics aren’t stupid enough to attack an Overseer,” Corvo snapped.

Daud raised his eyebrows. “Most heretics just cling to the runes and bone charms they find. They don’t tend to have a scrap of real magic in them.”

He couldn’t deny that. Now that Corvo had faced Daud firsthand, and used the powers granted by the Outsider for himself, he was painfully aware of the difference between fanatics that had been corrupted by the influence of the bone artifacts made in the Outsider’s name and actual heretics bearing the creature’s mark.

“It’s Corvo, isn’t it?” Daud said, breaking the brief silence.

Corvo stiffened. “How do you-”

“I have my ways,” Daud said, smirking again.

Corvo wanted to wipe that smirk off his face- with his fist or his mouth, he wasn’t entirely certain which.

“Or the Outsider told you my name,” Corvo said, suspicious. He could accept Daud operating under the Abbey’s nose, but having an agent within the Abbey itself was too far-fetched. Though Corvo himself was proof that someone marked by the Outsider could hide among the ranks of Overseers if they were careful about it-

Daud’s frown lasted only a second, but it was enough to confirm Corvo’s suspicions.

“What do you want,” Corvo demanded, tired of the games.

Daud shrugged. “I was going to kill you. But I’ve lost my taste for killing,” he added, in a tone that Corvo didn’t know how to decipher. Then he seemed to shake off whatever strange mood had gripped him, leaning forward slightly as he added in a low, rumbling voice, “So I’ve changed my mind. Maybe I just want a repeat of our last encounter.” He stepped forward, and Corvo nearly stepped back on instinct, before remembering that he had the advantage.

Devotion’s growl deepened to a snarl, enough to give Daud pause. He looked from the hound to Corvo, an obvious question on his face.

Void, was he actually serious? And was Corvo actually getting hard at the prospect of rubbing one off with this infuriating bastard again, while Overseers and guards patrolled nearby?

Corvo ignored Daud’s chuckle as he sheathed his sword, gesturing for Devotion to stay back even as he stepped closer. He tucked his mask into a pocket - the roof of an abandoned building was one thing; a garbage-strewn alley was something very different.

Daud tasted like smoke and oranges when Corvo kissed him, which made Corvo wonder if he’d been at the party earlier- if he’d killed someone before stumbling upon Corvo in the alley as he made his escape.

Daud pushed Corvo’s hood off, a muffled sound of surprise escaping him as he curled a hand in Corvo’s long hair. The few people that had occasion to see Corvo without his hood always seemed to express surprise at the length of his hair.

Corvo shuddered when Daud tugged, drawing back with reluctance. “Oranges?” he blurted out, before his thoughts could catch up with his mouth.

“Rich bastards had all kinds of fresh fruit. And this flavoured gelatin,” Daud said, jerking his head in the direction of the wall separating them from the party.

Corvo made a thoughtful sound and pulled Daud in again, chasing the taste of the fruit.

Some time later, Devotion whined, butting her head against Corvo’s thigh. She looked up at him imploringly when they broke apart again.

“I don’t think your bitch approves,” Daud said. She snarled at Daud as he spoke.

“She’s a better judge of character than I am,” Corvo muttered, not without bitterness. He wiped the end of one sleeve over his mouth as he backed away, Devotion shadowing his steps.

Daud’s mark glowed, and a strange green light burst from his hand, wrapping around the hilt of his fallen sword. It flew back into his grasp, but Daud just raised his eyebrows at Corvo when he tensed, and tucked it back into his belt.

“Until next time, Overseer,” he said; his mark glowed once more, and then he was gone.

Corvo spent the rest of his shift waiting for an alarm to go off from the manor, but as the party wound down and the guests started to depart in earnest, nothing happened. He and Devotion had to help that same hapless lower guard fend off a swarm of rats, and there was an altercation with crazed weepers further along the street, but if any guests were missing or dead, no one noticed before Corvo and the rest of the squad were relieved.

Had Daud been serious when he said that he’d lost his taste for killing? Certainly, there hadn’t been any more high profile murders in the months since Empress Jessamine- apart from Campbell’s death, of course. But that meant little, especially with the plague ravaging its way through the city: if Daud had the ability to summon swarms of rats, he could easily dispose of the evidence and make it look like nothing more than a tragic accident.

And why would he mention something like that to _Corvo_? Was he lying? Was he trying to earn Corvo’s trust by confessing? No matter how Corvo looked at it, he couldn’t discern Daud’s motives.

* * *

The next few days, Corvo was assigned to nighttime patrols in or around the Office. While that meant he wouldn’t see Daud unless the assassin was cocky enough to come to a district full of Overseers (something he stubbornly told himself that he didn’t want, in any case) it also meant that he couldn’t search for the final rune he needed to augment his bend time ability. No convenient runes washed up on the riverbank at the end of Clavering, though in the past they had appeared near the edge of the Wrenhaven with surprising frequency.

A point of resonance did appear in the district on the last day of his stretch of patrols, however. It was on a side street near the end of Clavering, but Corvo didn’t dare to sneak off his patrol to seek it out. The side streets were disputed territory, though in truth the City Watch had pretty much abandoned them to the gangs - in this case, the group of miscreants operating out of the whiskey distillery on Bottle Street.

Corvo found the opportunity to sneak out and find the rune the following night. He had a patrol early the next morning, but it was a short trip down Clavering from Holger Square.

The path across the rooftops was familiar and uneventful, though he took care to avoid the Whaler watching Bottle Street. They didn’t seem to notice him, and Corvo found himself alone on the rooftop of a tenement building at the end of Endoria Street soon enough.

The buildings had been crowded together as closely as possible during construction, but there was a strange pocket of space where nothing had been built between the warehouse and the apartment upon which Corvo stood. The dead-end alley was completely isolated from Endoria Street, surrounded on all sides by the high walls of the buildings; there was no indication that the place even existed unless an observer found a vantage point similar to Corvo’s.

He stared down at the L-shaped lane, and the shrine tucked away at the far end. The violet lights were faint from this high, but there could be no mistaking the swoops of blue and purple fabric that Corvo had seen most recently at Daud’s former shrine. All the shrines that he had raided in the past had shared similar characteristics.

His dark vision showed no one nearby, but its range didn’t extend all the way to the ground. He could blink down, but getting back out the same way was out of the question, as the walls were sheer and offered no convenient hand- or footholds. He paced around the edge, spotting a door at the other end of the alley leading into the apartments.

Had this seemingly forgotten alley been a deliberate construction? But why? This wasn’t some kind of garden, the bare stone ground proved as much; Corvo doubted the sun shone on the small space for any significant length of time in any case. The walls of the surrounding buildings were far too high.

Corvo flinched when the door opened, squinting as a slender, grey figure stalked out. From this distance, he could make out few details. Their grey hair suggested age, but otherwise-

He jerked back as the heretic looked up, the moonlight falling just so to illuminate her milky white eyes perfectly. Surely she couldn’t _see_ him, not from so far away and not with eyes like that-

“Come down here, dearie. I have a birthday gift for you,” the heretic called in a voice that was brittle with age. “I’ll overlook that nasty uniform, and you can pretend you’ve never met old Granny, yes.”

Corvo hesitated, then blinked down. He grunted as his boots hit the stone several paces away from the old woman. His blink had ended a fair distance above the ground, leaving him to drop the rest of the way down.

The woman’s clothes had been rich once, but now they were frayed with use and faded with age. If she had a mark, it was hidden by the ragged gloves she wore; but Corvo thought she must have had one. Regular heretics that the Outsider cared nothing for weren’t so uncanny. Some of them were insane and most had been hysterical (as they tended to be, when confronted by Overseers) but there was something different about this old woman. Something- dangerous. Despite her seemingly frail build and obvious age, she struck Corvo as just as dangerous as Daud- if not more so.

“You’ve lasted longer than the last one,” the woman said. Her posture was furtive, hands curled claw-like before her, at odds with her predatory gait as she strode confidently past him. Despite the uneven ground, her steps didn’t falter. He stared, then decided that she must have been familiar with the terrain. “Poor boy. Poor boy! The birdies turned on him. They weren’t nice, not like _my_ birdies.”

Corvo looked up instinctively, but there were no birds in sight. He flinched for the third time in as many minutes as a large rat scampered over the toe of one boot, chittering loudly as it followed the old woman.

“You could have birdies of your own,” the woman added. She stood at the corner of the alley, facing him. She didn’t react as the rat scampered up her leg and disappeared beneath the hem of her jacket. “I’m sure you have enough birthday gifts by now.”

Corvo glanced at the door, which gaped open behind him. He wasn’t afraid of the dark, nor of rats, but something about the opening unnerved him. His instincts screamed at him to leave, but he wanted the rune at the shrine. The woman was watching him, or at least her pale eyes were fixed in his direction, when he looked forward again.

“I’d rather use the runes for other abilities,” Corvo said.

“Oh, would you, dearie?” the woman said. “ _Would_ you? Is that why my black-eyed groom is so _fascinated_?” She smiled, a sharp thing that did precisely nothing to put Corvo at ease. “Come along! You wouldn’t want your birthday present to spoil, dearie, would you?” She turned abruptly and stalked towards the shrine, passing out of Corvo’s sight. He could still hear her muttering to herself, though: “It wouldn’t do for the new pet to use the same old tricks, no! Certainly _not_.”

Corvo hesitated, then followed. He found the woman standing in front of the shrine, blocking him from reaching the altar and, more importantly, the rune lying on its weathered surface.

“And what is your name, darling boy? Those Overseers destroy so many things, but they don’t take your name. What is it?”

“Corvo,” he said slowly. Was the woman a witch? Would the knowledge of his name be enough for her to cast some kind of spell on him? “And yours?”

“You can call me Granny,” she said, which did little to dispel his worry about the power of names. “Happy birthday, dearie.” She stepped aside, leaving him a clear path to the shrine- if he wanted to pass so close to her.

The hissing music of the rune grew louder as he stared at the shrine, and he was picking up the artifact before he made the conscious decision to walk past the old woman. His awareness of her faded as darkness filled his vision; he had eyes only for the youthful creature before him.

“Be careful, Corvo,” the Outsider said. “They call her Granny Rags. They say she’s a witch, but no one believes it- not even your brothers. They think she’s just a harmless, eccentric old woman. But we know differently, don’t we?” An eerie smile split the creature’s face.

“You’re a shrewd judge of character, but that means very little when you ignore your instincts. Why did you choose to meet with her? Why did you spare Daud again? How quickly and eagerly you embrace such heretical activities as your faith crumbles.”

Corvo would have protested that, had he been able to do anything more than passively observe the Outsider’s speech. He wouldn’t be having this crisis of faith if the Outsider hadn’t marked him- except he’d already doubted before the Outsider drew him into the Void that first time, and without the mark he probably would have just kept his head down and left Campbell to his schemes.

“Maybe you’re starting to see the truth: that your faith is built on a foundation of sand that’s washing out to sea. Or maybe you’re just getting better at lying to yourself. Which is it, I wonder?”

The Outsider faded, leaving Corvo only more conflicted. It would have been easier if the creature seemed openly dedicated to turning Corvo from the Abbey, but that wasn’t the case. On the contrary, the Outsider seemed interested only in taunting Corvo by voicing his own unspoken doubts back to him.

A hand closing around his wrist brought Corvo from his reverie. Granny Rags’ face was mere inches from his own, her eyes seeming to bore into him. It was as if she could see through the mask, which was ridiculous; and yet, Corvo couldn’t shake the feeling.

“You saw him, didn’t you,” she said, her grip tightening. “My black-eyed groom. Did you tell him Granny is doing her part?”

“I couldn’t tell him anything,” Corvo said. “He doesn’t let me speak.”

The witch’s eyes narrowed.

“But he did mention you,” Corvo said, subtly trying to pull away. Her grasp didn’t falter in the slightest.

“He did? What did he say?”

“That you’re a powerful witch, and I should respect you for it,” Corvo said. It wasn’t strictly a lie; the implications had been there.

“Ah! He did. My dear black-eyed groom,” Granny Rags cooed, finally releasing him. She took several graceful steps away, her hands raised as if she were dancing with a partner, though there was no one around but Corvo.

Corvo resisted the urge to pull back his sleeve and check for a bruise; by the way his arm ached, he wouldn’t be surprised to find one.

“What do you know about Daud?” Corvo asked, following her into the darkened apartment.

“Daud! That silly man,” the witch said, pausing in her dancing. “Why do you want to know? Nothing good comes of the Abbey going after the _true_ disciples of the black-eyed groom.”

“I don’t want to send anyone after him,” Corvo said, and was surprised to find that it was true.

“No? Hm. _Fascinating_ ,” Granny Rags said. It didn’t sound like a compliment. “Daud, Daud, Daud! What is there to say about that lost boy? What does the new pet want to hear, I wonder?”

Corvo bristled. He considered objecting to be called the Outsider’s pet, but he had no interest in antagonizing her. It was unlikely anyone else would ever know that she called him that.

Granny Rags straightened, stepping forward so that only a few paces separated them. Her eyes seemed luminous in the darkened hall, though the idea was a ridiculous one; but things seldom made sense when magic was involved. “ _Poor_ Daud. He hardened his heart, not realizing it was made of glass until it shattered and he was left to cut himself trying to gather the pieces up again.”

Her words seemed to carry more weight than the half-mad ramblings she’d spouted before, a significance that Corvo felt deep in his bones. The feral look on her face unnerved him, and not for the first time Corvo wondered what those blind eyes saw; if they missed anything at all.

“Well, go on then, dearie,” Granny Rags said, turning away. Her entire demeanour shifted as her shoulders hunched forward again. She stalked to a long basin just inside the door and started rooting through the junk within. The large rat from before crawled out of her collar and settled on her shoulder; its beady eyes focussed unwaveringly on Corvo. “It’s late, and we need our rest! Yes, we do.”

“What did you mean,” Corvo said, staring the rat down. “How can a heart be made of glass? I don’t understand.”

The witch cackled, an eerie sound that set Corvo’s hackles even further on edge. “A glass heart? A _glass_ heart? Does such a thing exist? How fanciful. I’d like to have one for myself. It would break into such pretty pieces, oh! I can just imagine it now...”

Corvo backed away slowly, his survival instinct returning full force and unwilling to be ignored any longer. Stairs to his right led to higher floors, but the hallway to his left led to a door that, if he wasn’t completely turned around, ought to open onto Endoria.

“Close the door behind you, dearie! Don’t want to let the birdies out!” Granny Rags called as he reached the door. He glanced into the opening to his right and his heart nearly stopped. A silent mass of rats stared at him from the front room with the same sharp focus of the rat on the witch’s shoulder; they covered the floor of the room. He had never seen so many in one place, even when they swarmed and attacked people.

He was out the door in a second, slamming it shut and leaning back against it as he gasped for breath. His pulse thundered in his ears; he told himself he was simply imagining the skittering of countless tiny claws coming from the apartment behind him.

Something shattered further up the street; a bottle, surely, not- a heart. That was absurd. Corvo shook his head to dispel the thought, grimacing at the sweat collecting at the nape of his neck and beading along his forehead. Whoever had broken that bottle wasn’t someone Corvo wanted to meet, even if they were a guard or fellow Overseer, since he was still clutching the rune in one hand.

Corvo shoved it into his jacket quickly, then made his way back up to the rooftops. The Whaler was still watching Bottle Street, crouched at the edge of the roof of a quarantined building just outside the Dunwall Whiskey Distillery. He gave them a wide berth, wondering if there was some kind of feud between Daud and the Bottle Street gang; he dismissed the thought as he neared Holger, reminding himself that he didn’t care.

Augmenting his bend time ability consumed his entire stash of runes. He tested it briefly, but a headache set in after he used the power a few times so he ended up returning to the Office to steal what sleep he could before his shift early the next morning.

It took him a long time to fall asleep, his thoughts returning to the unnerving encounter with Granny Rags despite his efforts. He woke up tired and frustrated, unable to remember his dreams but for the fact that the Outsider had been in them.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fudging the timeline a little, in that Daud records the audiograph that can be overheard in The Flooded District mission before the events of the Knife of Dunwall. the audiograph and Daud's journal entry have been transcribed pretty much directly from the game.

Things continued in that vein. While Corvo was glad that he couldn’t remember the content of his dreams, he imagined that they consisted of the Outsider taunting him about his poor life choices or something similar. The fact that he wasn’t getting any rest as a result was more troubling.

Corvo wasn’t usually a talkative man. He kept to himself, content to remain another faceless Overseer in the mass. Receiving the Outsider’s mark had only made him more withdrawn - how could he confide any of his current problems to his brothers when so much as alluding to them could end with him in the stocks or worse?

Seeking Granny Rags out again and asking her how she dealt with the Outsider’s relentless attention was out of the question. If the creature’s regard had bothered her at some point, her current state was evidence enough that whatever method she’d used to cope wasn’t one that Corvo wanted to try himself.

He’d heard rumours of a coven of witches north of the city, but whether any of them had seen the Outsider or bore his mark was another question entirely. He could hardly slip out of the city either.

The only other person with the Outsider’s mark that Corvo knew of was Daud. While he knew that seeing the assassin again was one of the stupidest things he could do, Corvo was weary enough that he was willing to seize the slightest excuse.

Corvo picked his way across the city carefully, reaching the outskirts of the Flooded District without incident. He paused before he reached the area that was under surveillance by the Whalers, taking stock. Like the Whalers he had witnessed and avoided in the Distillery District, these assassins were focussed primarily on the streets below, paying little attention to the rooftops around them.

Corvo stuck to the shadows as much as he could, his progress slowing as he reached areas with more and more lookouts. If anything, their presence told him he was headed in the right direction.

He had seldom had the occasion to visit Rudshore in its prime: Overseers were supported by the Abbey, though those in positions of influence - like Campbell - had means beyond the institution. Corvo had been to the Financial District once or twice; there had been a raid several years earlier, though he had no particularly strong memories of the place.

So he had no way to compare the ruined, waterlogged region that he crossed now to the presumably affluent city fixture that it used to be. The vestiges of prosperity were obvious in the rich materials used to construct the grander buildings, though time and neglect had dimmed their extravagance. Rudshore had been one of the first districts connected to the public railcar line; the abandoned remnants of the tracks that loomed crookedly over the flooded streets brought to mind the picked-clean bones of a dead animal.

The once-opulent marble of the Chamber of Commerce was a dull grey in the moonlight. Jessamine’s statue stared impassively out over her ruined city.

Corvo frowned, wondering at Daud’s decision to maintain a base there- for it had to be there, the makeshift walkways surrounding the building and increasing number of Whalers making it the only possible candidate.

The roof of the Chamber had collapsed in places, leaving the upper floor exposed to the elements. Corvo crouched at the apex of the nearest mostly-intact building, studying the area around it. Whalers patrolled the crumbling tenement buildings to either side, watching the various entrances, but none were in evidence on the roof of the base itself.

The distance between his current position and the Chamber was considerable, but Corvo had grown used to his powers and was confident he could cross the space if he got a running start. It was a risk, but trying to sneak past the Whalers into the other entrances seemed worse in comparison.

The thought of turning back didn’t even cross his mind.

The wooden beam jutting out from the top of the wall groaned ponderously when he blinked onto it, so Corvo kept moving in case someone came to investigate. His dark vision revealed the large office below was occupied by only one other person: Daud.

Corvo blinked his eyes, dispelling the sight. That was convenient- he wouldn’t even have to creep around the large building seeking the assassin out. He dropped down soundlessly to the loft, which turned out to be someone’s bedroom.

Was it Daud’s? The small space had few personal belongings: a bookcase that was more empty than full, a trunk at the foot of the modest bed, and not much else.

The assassin’s voice filtered up to Corvo; he had been fiddling with a machine on the desk directly beneath the lot when Corvo looked before. An audiograph, perhaps.

“-so many schemes you have, and so many contracts,” Daud said. “You small, worried man. How many people have I killed for you? None like the last. None like her. I'd give back all the coin if I could. No one should have to kill an Empress.”

The trunk was locked, so Corvo went for the next item of interest: the bookcase beside the bed. The first volume he pulled out was a worn leather book, the edges of its covers cracked and pages yellowed. The same hand scrawled across every page; Corvo flipped to the last entry, dated that day.

_Eighteen years on this wretched rock, in this city of filth. I’ve felt the blood of scholars, of noble pedophiles, of guildsmen, of unfaithful lovers, of politicians who were far too just for their own good, and of law enforcers who came too close to bringing the wrong man to justice. Why should an empress be any different? Why should I feel the entire weight of this dying city crushing down on my back?_

Corvo frowned and shut the journal gently, returning it to its place on the shelf. Daud had said he’d lost his taste for killing the last time they met; his confession and the entry in his journal only offered further proof of that fact.

Daud’s hand dropped to the hilt of his blade when Corvo blinked down to the lower level, but he didn’t draw it.

“What are you doing here?” he demanded.

Corvo didn’t know what to say. Admitting that the Outsider had driven him to his wits’ end was too pathetic; but given what he’d just heard and read, he could hardly claim he’d come for a fight either.

“Emily Kaldwin,” Corvo said quickly. “Where is she?”

Daud didn’t flinch, but a strange look crossed his face at the mention of her name.

“Why do you want to know?” he demanded, crossing his arms over his chest. The reaction made Corvo think that Daud probably wasn’t hiding her somewhere in the ruined district- a possibility he hadn’t seriously entertained in the first place.

“She deserves better than being abducted so the usurper who had her mother killed can sit on her throne,” Corvo said, the vehemence in his voice startling them both.

Daud’s face quickly hardened again, however. “So you want her to become a pawn of the Abbey.”

“Of course not,” Corvo snapped, bristling. Though he couldn’t deny that at least part of Martin’s motive for finding her was the influence he would gain... That attitude was why Corvo had taken a chance on the other Overseer in the first place.

As if he could read Corvo’s mind, Daud sneered, “Maybe not you, but that snake in red-”

“I don’t think,” Corvo cut him off, “that the man who put Lady Emily in this position should have any say in her future.”

Daud jerked back, as if Corvo had physically attacked him. Corvo refused to feel bad; it was the truth, after all.

“You,” Daud said furiously, stepping forward with intent. Corvo shifted, easing his hand closer to the hilt of his sword.

Suddenly, all the fight seemed to go out of Daud, his shoulders slumping noticeably. He turned away from Corvo and paced over to a cabinet against the wall.

“I gave her to the Pendleton twins. That was the arrangement I had with that bastard, Burrows,” Daud said, spitting the Lord Regent’s name out like a curse. He produced a bottle of whiskey, half-empty, and poured himself a generous measure. There was a pause as he took a healthy swallow, then he added, still not looking at Corvo, “I don’t know where they took her.”

“Don’t you have contacts all over the city?” Corvo asked.

Daud looked at him, inscrutable. “And if I do?”

“Can’t you track her down?”

Daud laughed, bitter, then drained the rest of the whiskey. He placed the glass down with a deliberate finality, the sound loud in the otherwise silent room, before he turned to face Corvo fully again. If the melancholy of only moments before remained, it wasn’t obvious in Daud’s face or demeanour as he stalked back towards Corvo.

“So not only do you want to make a pawn of the girl, now you want me to do the dirty work and find her too? Should I kidnap her and deliver her to Holger Square? Perhaps leave a note for your High Overseer?”

“I thought you’d appreciate the chance to make amends,” Corvo said. “You’re the one who said you’d give all the coin back if you could.”

“Did you- how much did you hear,” Daud snarled. Between one blink of Corvo’s eye and the next, Daud was suddenly right in front of him, shoving him back.

Corvo staggered, his thoughts catching on the dissonance of Daud’s impossibly fast movement. He had obviously blinked forward, but Corvo hadn’t even had the warning of his mark flaring-

He grunted as Daud slammed him up against the wall, wondering if all of their encounters were doomed to end in violence, with one of them pressed up against the nearest hard surface. His body was already reacting, as if the past two times had been enough to convince his treacherous dick that this was merely a prelude to more pleasant activities.

Corvo had one hand curled around the bandolier slung across Daud’s chest, the other wrapped around Daud’s upper arm; he should have been pushing Daud away, but his limbs wouldn’t obey. He tilted his head back when Daud hooked his fingers under the edge of his mask instead, using his grip to pull Daud closer and press their mouths together when Daud got the mask off.

Daud growled and bit at his lower lip. The taste of the whiskey he’d drunk moments earlier was almost overwhelming, but Corvo forgot it all when Daud pressed a thigh between Corvo’s own. He felt Daud smirk against his mouth, which was all the warning he got before Daud pulled back.

“Someone’s eager,” he said, as if Corvo couldn’t feel the evidence of Daud’s own arousal against his hip. “Not going to back out again, are you? Your hound isn’t here to interrupt.”

Rather than grace the infuriating taunt with a reply, Corvo pulled Daud back in. Their teeth jarred together, but Corvo ignored the momentary, insignificant pain in favour of silencing Daud’s damn tongue with his own.

He barely heard the hiss of displaced air, but he certainly heard the newly-arrived Whaler’s voice a moment later.

“Sir,” the Whaler said, then- stopped.

Daud jerked back, but his hand was tangled in Corvo’s harness and Corvo’s were caught in the assassin’s ridiculously complex uniform, so he didn’t get very far.

The stunned silence was a tangible thing. Corvo considered pressing his face against Daud’s neck to hide his identity or covering his eyes with his forearm, but this wasn’t _The Young Prince of Tyvia_ or any other torrid story from the smutty contraband that was inevitably smuggled into the barracks of young Overseers.

“What is it?” Daud asked, as if he didn’t have Corvo pushed up against the wall, as if he hadn’t been rocking his dick against Corvo’s hip two seconds earlier.

At least they were still mostly clothed.

Corvo stared at the Whaler. The Whaler seemed to stare back at Corvo; their mask was oriented in Corvo’s direction, anyway.

“Well?” Daud’s voice was tinged with impatience.

The Whaler’s head snapped forward. “Lurk has returned with a lead concerning the name.”

Daud tensed, managing to untangle himself before stepping away. He turned to face the Whaler fully, any embarrassment from getting caught with an Overseer well-hidden, if he felt it at all. “Where is she?”

“Restocking equipment. Should I tell her to meet you- later?”

Corvo bent to retrieve the mask from where Daud had dropped it. “I have to get back,” he said, pulling his hood up and setting the mask back in place.

For a second Corvo thought Daud might protest, but it passed. Daud shrugged, turning back to the Whaler. “Sure.”

As he walked onto the makeshift balcony outside Daud’s office, he heard Daud say, “Double the rooftop patrols. I don’t want any more breaches in security.”

Corvo blinked to the nearest roof, slipping easily past the patrolling Whalers as he made his way back to the Distillery District. Was that Daud’s way of telling him not to come back? The thought bothered him, though not for the reasons it should have- it was a self-perpetuating cycle, so Corvo pushed it aside.

* * *

Corvo’s patrols were all across the city over the next few days. He still hadn’t been assigned to a regular squad, but it wasn’t a concern to him. That hadn’t been a part of the deal with Martin, and he was accustomed to it by now. While having a familiar group of his brothers might have eased his misgivings or given him someone to confide in (though Corvo still could not imagine telling anyone of the mark), it would likely have made his guilt about bearing the mark harder to deal with as well.

Every time Devotion tensed or growled at shadows, Corvo expected Daud to materialize out of the darkness, but the patrols were quiet. Even the Whalers watching Bottle Street seemed to have disappeared, or else they had become more adept at concealing themselves from him.

He spent what free time he had looking into the Pendleton twins.

They were from a noble family that had played a significant part in making Dunwall the centre of power it remained today, though the current generation was hardly the paragon of progress that history made the previous generations out to be. The Pendletons were wealthy and had considerable influence in Parliament, though the twins were known to be dissolute and corrupt. They were hardly the only nobles with those faults, though they had even less restraint and regard for Abbey teachings than most. There was a third brother, but little mention was ever made of him, beyond his name.

Corvo also learned that the twins spent a considerable portion of their time at the Golden Cat, though the establishment was currently closed to deal with a rat infestation. Many of the guards Corvo shared his patrol with complained about it; apparently the Cat was considered an easy and desirable assignment. According to the guards, though, it should open again soon.

Perhaps Corvo could sneak in when it reopened and find a way to interrogate one of the twins, though it seemed like a far-fetched plan. The lack of alternatives had him seriously considering it, or even going so far as to find their home in the Estate District and question them there.

Martin summoned Corvo on the third day, early in the morning. His shift had run long - slacking off on the City Watch’s end. None of those who’d been forced to wait for their relief had been particularly interested in hearing the next shift’s excuses; Corvo, for one, had been looking forward to sleep.

When he arrived back at Holger Square only to be told the High Overseer required his presence, he had to stifle a groan. But he could only think of one reason for Martin to call a meeting- if he knew where Burrows was hiding Emily. All thoughts of sleep fled at the prospect.

Corvo nodded to the Overseer guarding the hallway beyond Martin’s personal office before knocking on the door.

“Enter,” Martin called, and Corvo did, taking care to shut the door behind himself. The room had changed considerably in the days since Martin had first taken power. The portrait of Burrows’ ascension had been removed, along with most of the other paintings that had adorned the walls. Other obvious indications of Campbell’s ostentation had all disappeared: the luxurious chair, the expensive silver inkwell and matching pens, among other things.

The sole indication of Martin’s occupation was the hound slumbering before the fire. Heather’s ears perked and she raised her head as Corvo walked past, turning to regard him with her remaining eye.

“High Overseer,” Corvo said, coming to attention before Martin’s desk.

“Brother Corvo,” Martin said, waving a hand for Corvo to relax. He settled into a more comfortable stance, clasping his hands behind his back, right over left. “I haven’t finished decoding Campbell’s book yet. The cipher he used after the death of Empress Jessamine is different from the one he’d used previously. There hasn’t been much time for me to sit down and uncover the rest of the secrets hidden in the pages.”

Corvo nodded, though some of his disappointment must have been obvious because Martin sighed.

“You’re welcome to try your hand at it if you’d like,” Martin said. “I can arrange for you to have uninterrupted time in your room, or somewhere similar.”

“I doubt I’d get anywhere,” Corvo said. “As I told you, it’s not my area of expertise.”

Martin shrugged. “Daud has been made a priority, though reports about his whereabouts are nebulous at best. Serious efforts to locate the heretic and his men were curtailed after Campbell started to employ him. If one of his assassins was stupid enough to get caught, no mercy was shown, but otherwise...”

Corvo frowned. Further evidence of Campbell’s corruption. Though could Corvo really judge the man for turning a blind eye to Daud’s activities when he had let the heretic escape himself?

“A Whaler in a red jacket was captured briefly near the Rothwild slaughterhouse yesterday evening,” Martin added. “But a figure the attending Overseers swear was Daud freed them before they could be removed for interrogation.”

“You don’t think it was Daud?” Corvo asked.

“I have my doubts. It reflects less poorly on them if they were foiled by the leader of the heretics himself,” Martin said. “Either way, the Whalers escaped. Bundry Rothwild went missing at the same time. The whale being processed by the slaughterhouse was killed as well.”

“Some kind of heretical worship?” Corvo asked. “Backlash for exploiting beasts claimed to be sacred to the Outsider?”

“Perhaps,” Martin said, unconvinced. Corvo doubted that was the explanation either, though he had no idea what could have motivated the disappearance of a prominent citizen, unless Rothwild had rivals that wanted him gone. Daud had said he was done with killing though. “At any rate, that is the most current information we have on Daud and the Whalers at this time.”

Corvo inclined his head. “Thank you for keeping me informed, High Overseer.”

“Of course. I won’t keep you from your rest; I’m sure you’d like to return to your room,” Martin added, glancing at the clock.

Corvo doubted he’d be able to sleep, not with the mystery of the Rothwild Slaughterhouse and Emily’s still-unknown location to worry about, but he was grateful for the dismissal anyway.

The door opened before he could reach it, however, and a slender man of obviously aristocratic bearing strode in. He spared Corvo a brief glance before focussing on Martin.

“Demanding a meeting at this hour is highly irregular, High Overseer,” the man said, his tone just barely civil.

Heather stirred, a low growl issuing from her as she rose. It was enough to give the aristocrat pause, his eyes darting from the hound to her master.

“Lord Treavor, I’m glad you could come,” Martin said smoothly, making no move to quell Heather. “Please, sit. And close the door on your way out, brother,” he added to Corvo.

“I’ll thank you to address me as Lord _Pendleton_ ,” the aristocrat snapped, drawing himself up even more tightly.

Corvo faltered for the briefest moment, his hand clenching tight around the doorknob. He forced himself to exit the room completely, closing the door with a care that he did not feel. The urge to linger outside the room and blatantly eavesdrop was strong, but the Overseer guarding the door would know that Corvo didn’t belong and there was no way that Corvo could think of to manage it inconspicuously.

He walked back to the room he shared automatically, his feet taking him through the familiar steps without conscious thought.

Most of the city knew the Pendleton name, though someone as unconcerned with politics as Corvo might not have recognized it if he hadn’t had reason to look into them. But he had been given reason to research them- because Daud had said he’d given Emily to the twins.

Corvo didn’t know much about the youngest Pendleton, beyond that he existed in his twins’ shadows, little more than afterthought. Perhaps he was aware of his brothers’ actions, or perhaps he was ignorant- but it could hardly be a coincidence that Martin had asked to meet with Treavor.

Martin said he had yet to decode the cipher Campbell had adopted after the death of the Empress, but he’d broken Campbell’s original cipher in a couple of days and used it to great effect to secure himself the title of High Overseer. It had been a month and a half since Martin took the office, which should have been ample time for him to figure it out.

He could be distracted by his duties, or strengthening his position; perhaps the cipher was, as Martin claimed, too difficult for him to break at that time. Somehow, Corvo doubted that was the case.

Laurence, the Overseer he shared the room with, had already left for the day when Corvo reached it, which was fortunate. Corvo could pace the short span of the room as much as he wished, turning the facts and his suspicions over in his mind, without the judging stare of a witness.

At length, he was forced to admit it was a futile effort. Despite his agitation, he was too tired to find a satisfactory resolution.

He pulled the drapes shut tightly over the small window; the sun had already risen past the horizon, and he couldn’t sleep with that much light shining into the room. He set his uniform aside and climbed into his bunk, his body long since accustomed to the thin, hard mattress. Although he thought he would find himself following the same circular arguments, he was asleep in a matter of minutes.

* * *

His patrol the following day was within the Office. He could have slipped away, as the absence of a single Overseer probably wouldn’t have been missed, but where would he go? With a bit of sleep (though the amount of rest he’d gotten was debatable, as he was still plagued by strange dreams) and under the light of a new day, Corvo was forced to conclude that Martin _was_ likely still working to find Emily.

The very same reason that Corvo had gone to him - his ambition and general unconcern with morals - was the reason that Martin had yet to act upon the knowledge of Emily’s location. He wanted to arrange Emily’s return to his advantage, in a manner that would further his own ambition as much as possible. That Emily was being held against her will was secondary to the benefits that could be reaped.

Corvo wouldn’t even have known if Daud hadn’t mentioned the Pendleton twins to him. It was a strange thing, to realize that he trusted someone who should have been his enemy- _was still_ his enemy- rather than the High Overseer.

But Daud could have lied to him. Just because he seemed more trustworthy than Martin didn’t make him so. He’d killed the Empress. The extent of Martin’s crimes was that he’d lied to Corvo. In these halls, surrounded by Overseers in the light of day, it was harder to put his faith in Daud’s words.

There was no way to know for certain. Despite his misgivings, Corvo was still certain that Martin would want to return Emily to the throne. The relationship between the new High Overseer and the Lord Regent was much cooler than it had been under Campbell; Martin’s position would be much stronger with a grateful Empress in the Tower. As long as Emily took her rightful place, Corvo had no reason to fault Martin’s actions.

But if she was harmed, if these delays somehow affected her adversely- Corvo would deal with it. The red coat wouldn’t be any greater protection to Martin than it had been for Campbell.

The busts of previous High Overseers glared at him as he crossed the length of the main hall. Pure paranoia, to imagine that they could read his thoughts- that they were even sentient. Corvo pushed the thoughts aside.

The main hall was empty and largely silent these days, apart from the steady footsteps of the Overseers and those who served them - maids, mainly, to keep the portions of the Office open to the public clean and presentable. Ordinary citizens seeking counsel were infrequent; people preferred to remain inside when they could, which Corvo could hardly blame them for.

The back of his neck prickled, that strange instinct he had for the Void alerting him that something was amiss. He forced himself to remain at ease, scanning the length of the hall casually as he turned. There were a few supplicants speaking with an Overseer, and more of his brothers patrolling nearby. Nothing out of the ordinary; the thought that a heretic would have the audacity to set foot here was ridiculous.

Corvo paused, noticing the woman descending the stairs at the end of the hall. Her hair was pulled back from her face, which was hidden behind a dark, sheer veil. The rest of her clothes were equally austere, dark shades of green and grey that verged on black. She could have been any well-off mourner; with the plague’s grip on the city, those were hardly uncommon, yet something about her made Corvo’s hackles rise.

He walked towards her, under the pretense of checking the stairs; as he neared, he saw there were red flowers embroidered at her collar. They were the exact shade of dried blood, and almost distracted him from the strangest thing about her: the raised veins visible at her neck, the only part of her skin that was exposed. He nearly flinched when he realized the pattern did not mimic veins and arteries, but twisted beneath her skin in seemingly random patterns, as if they were- vines?

She smiled at him as she passed. This close, he could see that she was beautiful, and her smile only made her more so- but the demure expression was belied by the sharp glint in her eyes.

Corvo swallowed hard, trying to stifle the instinctive gag that rose in his throat as her perfume wafted over him. Most visitors to the Office put on their best appearance, and that often included overpowering scents to subtly (or not so subtly) show their wealth. This woman, though. She smelled of the damp and decay, of rotting vegetation and stagnant water.

He turned to watch her go, sparing a quick glance around before turning his back to the nearest wall and clasping his hands behind his back, right over left.

The woman’s skin took on a greenish tint in his dark vision, the network of vines evident all over her body glowing an even darker shade of green. He could make out several bone charms and a single rune hidden in various places.

A _witch_? What reason would she have to come here, of all places?

If she had stolen anything, she must have concealed it well to hide it from his dark vision. Or perhaps she had found the various bone artifacts? Some were even displayed to the public, like the rune mounted on the wall in the High Overseer’s meeting room, to serve as warnings against temptation.

He could hardly follow her out, not without raising suspicion. He could alert the others stationed nearby - even if she was a witch, she was in the midst of the Abbey stronghold of the city. But that would only end in blood, and Corvo was as reluctant to report a heretic to his brothers now as he had been for the Whalers.

The moment passed. Corvo felt- conflicted. The Whalers hadn’t come to Holger Square; the witch had. Whatever her motive, he doubted it would benefit the Overseers.

A few hours later, filing onto a riverboat for the journey to Rudshore with a group of his brothers to take part in a raid on Daud’s base, Corvo realized just how astute his premonition had been.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> edited to give a name to the guy Corvo shares a room with, in case anyone's wondering about that.


End file.
